


Hey, Trendsetter

by s0lesurvivor (orphan_account)



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Smut, Vaginal Sex, god i have a lot of feelings for deacon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 09:00:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5621113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/s0lesurvivor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deacon thinks he's the best story-teller and go-getter of the commonwealth, that was until he met "Wanderer" as Desdemona saw fit to call her. She's as cunning and witty, and twice as delectable as Deacon would think he was. And she is prying him to play his cards just right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hey, Trendsetter

     It was around three months ago that Deacon had hitched himself to Wanderer's hip. Normally, he was the type of person to stick to the shadows and trail about by himself. It was harder to get caught that way and it was inexplicably easier when it was only your own baggage being carried. Yet, Wanderer? She was  _too_ much damn fun to not have around. She was as sniveling and conniving as he was. Everything was a game to her and Deacon would be a filthy liar if he said it wasn't amusing, too bad he had that covered regardless.

     It was a dim-lit night in Goodneighbor, the streets smelling of Jet fumes and decay as the dirty drifters and ageless ghouls traveled somewhat aimlessly along the streets. She had nosebleed heels on that made Deacon's head dizzy and her scalp was clad in a messy wig of sorts, bright and blond in contrast to her usually black tendrils. It was a unique dissimilarity, the too revealing red dress and the blond wig, eyes peppered up as dark as coal. She should've been called Charmer, because right now Deacon felt like a dog and  _God_ if she would throw him a bone he would not hesitate to sink his teeth into it. 

    Her eyes surveyed the land around them before landing on the pinstriped pattern of her companion's suit. Though his eyes were sheathed by the low sitting brim of his musty cap, Wanderer could clearly tell he was distracted. So, with a flirty flip of her hair, the agent sunk into her cover - a quirky, perky, flirty wife to a bad ass mobster frequent in Diamond City (or so everyone in Goodneighbor believed. Deacon was just that good at spreading his damn lies). 

     "C'mon, Freddy - Charlie made it a point to have us in that bar tonight," she quipped at him, but her words ran deeper than that. He knew it was a plea, a silent 'Deacon, you're slipping' and he forced himself to clear his throat before taking Wanderer by her waist. 

     "Sorry, sugar," he said with a bastardly grin spread too tight against his pink lips. "I was lost in the way you look tonight." And that wasn't a lie, rather there was too much truth to that statement and it made his stomach churn with a sour feel. Deacon, he was calm and cool and was charming, at least he thought he was, and he never had a problem forming elaborate schemes and lies to twist a female into his arms. He was like a spider spinning a careful web, waiting for his next meal to become trapped. Unfortunately, he couldn't bring himself to do that with Wanderer - he  _actually_ liked her. 

     And that thought made the spit on his tongue rotten. The only way to not get hurt in this world is to trust  _absolutely_ no one, and here he was on his hands and knees for a woman he barely knew - all because she was good at being just as fake as he was. Deacon didn't even know her name, let alone where she was from or how old she was. The woman was a shadow upon the wall that was the Commonwealth. And he had stalked that shadow for quite some time, lurking behind each light-toed step. He had roamed Diamond City, Goodneighbor, and Bunker Hill which were areas she visited frequent. Nevertheless, the most dirt he could dig up on her was that she was once a vault dweller. Everything about her was tight lipped. 

     What drew him to her, however, is the violent lies she spun around people's ditzy little heads. Deacon had watched Wanderer con a man out of his fucking  _clothes_ for Christ's sake by taking her own off around a corner and running at him - spewing distasteful words about raiders taking her captive and threatening to skin her alive. He was impressed, but also knew not to trust her. So, why was he here fawning himself over a woman like Wanderer?

 

##

 

     The two of them were now sat at a bar, her long legs draped over his lap - the limbs were curved at the knees, too sharp for comfort. She was talking up 'Ole Whitechapel Charlie, her accent thick and unforgiving as her words floated cheerfully off her lying tongue. However, Charlie adored when she came around; it was good for business. Despite the fact that she was  _clearly_ fawning herself over her "spouse", drifters from all around came to admire her. Wanderer was perfect, safe of scars and lumps and radiation poisoning to a  _T._ The only thing abnormal about her was the pale birthmark just below her right eye. This woman was radiant, and not in the way people were used to around these parts. That was the only reason Deacon believed that she was a vault dweller at some point - having been saved from the likes of radiation poison and disease was unlikely out here, but not in there. 

     Magnolia had the night off. No one cared about an old dog with old tricks when there was a new breed in town. And she was long and lean and red-lipped, her tongue a dagger as it sliced through all who sought conversation with her. Luckily for them, it aided in the mission at hand. Desdemona had sent the duo on a run to dig up any information about a man who goes by the alias "Kellogg". He was their only chance at breaching within the institute to make contact with their eyes on the inside. Not only that, but it was Wanderer's only chance at ever seeing Shaun again. 

 

##

 

     Her lips printed along the filter of a cigarette made Deacon's eyes pop or maybe it was the way she was flirting it up with a dirty man who claims he knows a guy who works for the institute - just the man they were looking for; surprise! Wanderer was good at what she did, talking up people's egos so they were inclined to boast about other comparable achievements. So, when come-over central over there was quick to reveal Kellogg's location - Deacon found it appropriate to get out of there before trouble showed up. The institute had eyes  _and_ ears everywhere. 

     "C'mon, baby doll," his voice vibrated off an alcohol burnt throat a few octaves deeper and smoother than his normal speaking voice. It took a few shakes of Wanderer's slim arm for her to get the hint, dark rimmed eyes focused on the shadows that his hat cast over his face. Her eyes spoke victory, but the way her lips spread into a mile wide grin said tipsy house wife ready to hitch a ride on the midnight pony. It made his chest tighten, mostly because he secretly hoped her smile wasn't all for show. However, the way she nearly tripped over the stool, hair a mess as she flung her head back to laugh was just that - a show. Wanderer set the world as her stage, and she the starving artist. Deacon would not lie, she played a good drunk - regardless of the fact she had only sipped a single drink the whole night. The man found himself carrying her bridal style by the time they passed into the streets of Goodneighbor. Her breasts were pressed so flush to his own chest as she strung out her arms around his neck that Deacon was close to vomiting. 

     "There's a man following behind us, take a quick dip into the Rexford - I ordered us a room," her words were clipped as they were spoken into his ear, her voice no longer liquid gold - but a hard trained dusting of femininity and war. Wanderer was eyeing the man that followed after the couple, yet kept her head low enough that it appeared to be no more than slung over his shoulder. For some reason, being this close to Deacon made her heart race - despite how hard she did her best to focus merely on the task at hand. Yet, there was no denying the feeling his hot breath caused as it sent shivers down her arched spine every time they spread out across the bare skin of her revealed shoulder. 

 

##

 

     The lying duo managed to lose the man in the lobby through fake (and rather sloppy) kisses and bantering and as the both of them climbed up the steps, her now at his side rather than in his arms: there was absolutely no denying the way her lips had felt on his. He knew it was a role, a mere joke played and she kissed him like that just so the man would shy right back out of the doors he entered through. But nevertheless, he had clung to the fake desperation her tongue had lapped against his lower lip. Now sat upon the run-down mattress of their bedroom, his suit jacket shed off to reveal a tattered white shirt and his hat beside him on the bed, Deacon began to scribble up a progress report on tonight's success. That is, until a wadded up ball of old newspaper articles struck him in the head. 

     "I would say 'home-run!' if I wasn't so sure of the paper cut you just left on my forehead," his eyes pulled up to meet her playful glare, yet they were hid behind the sunglasses he insisted on pressing back to his eyes. Simply because, the eyes were the  _goddamn_ window to the soul and he would be a mirelurk cake on a hot day surrounded by hungry raiders before he allowed anyone to see into  _that._

     "Oh, quiet," she chirped at him, her body now draped in tattered shorts and a rather form-fitting tank top, the hem reaching just above her navel. It made Deacon sweat a bit, and he had to use the paper cut nonsense as a reason to swipe his wrist across his forehead. 

     "I wouldn't say I was being loud, Wanda. Just admiring the fact you just sliced me a new forehead."

     She hated that nickname he would use every once and a while, a play on her code-name assigned to her by Desdemona. It was funny, though and she found her lips curling upwards at the very corners when he spoke. She liked his voice, it was milky and smooth, like heavily-whipped cream and she basked in the way it lingered in her head. She found her legs carefully carrying herself to him, heel to toe and back again until she was stationed just before him. The confidence she had was filled to the brim and it made her cheeky - not to mention the lack of consumption of any alcohol for over 200 hundred years could make  _anyone_ tipsy in one sip. This was fraternizing, the way she fell into his lap with her thighs pressed to either side of him, but she frankly didn't care. Over the months they had been traveling together there was so much sexual tension and  _need_ and Wanderer would hate herself if she didn't at least try to seduce him. 

     He swallowed harshly at the way she was once across the room and was now in his lap and  _god fucking dammit_ her crotch was so warm against the inside of his left thigh where it pressed that he was  _literally_ two seconds away from either losing his mind or passing out - but he was also a con, a liar, and he would use that to his benefit. She was drunk and he knew that and he wished he had less respect for her - he couldn't take advantage of her. 

     "You kind of tripped and fell into my lap - either you're coming onto me or you're  _literally_ on me. I'm not sure which one of those is true."

     "Let's play a game."

     Those words took him by surprise, but he merely pulled his eyebrows up in an arch at them. 'A game?' he thought, whilst his head also willed his damn groin to simmer down before he got them  _both_ caught in a lie - him and lil' Peter. "A game? Like betting caps on who can hold their breath the longest? Swear I made Desdemona pass out once doing that, but Glory definitely took the cake between me and her. Who knew Synths didn't have to breathe?"

     Wanderer smiled sharply at his words, which made Deacon feel like a mouse caught between a cat's paws - she was batting him about and he had no idea when she was going to sink her teeth into him. He also didn't know if he would have enough morals or energy (99% morals) to fight it. 

     "The game is, you take me down onto this mattress right _now_ , fuck me like the savage animal you are, and the first to spill the beans on this get their head chopped off by Dez. Bets are, it's going to be you."

     "A savage? I thought I had a lot more class than that." It took every muscle, all the will, every damn thing in his body to keep his breathing steady and his words as normal as possible after having heard her say that. She was testing his patience, and Wanderer knew that. 

**Author's Note:**

> Bare with me guys, filthy sin and smut and wonderful shit to send you to hell will come the next chapter. You have my word.


End file.
